A Toast To My Health!

Last evening I drank a bottle of Robitussin with dinner. It made a poor accompaniment to lime chicken with broccoli and rice.

Huh. Maybe I should have prefaced that by writing that I'm in a lot of pain -- or, I should write, I'm in more pain than I've become accustomed to since I've been on my current drug regimen. The daily 120 mg of Oxycodone, and more of which my doctor won't prescribe, isn't cutting it, and I won't be able to start on Methadone until I see my discomfited doctor later this month (who prefers her patients to be on Methadone -- and if she prefers it, I truly have every reason to believe that I will too, because she's one of the very few doctors I've seen since being diagnosed with fibro I have a scintilla of respect and trust for/in).

(Sorry for that extremely poorly constructed sentence. ...I use non-union labor.)

I've been told that getting off Oxy and onto Methadone (which doesn't have a catchy shorthand I can use for it -- "Meth" having been taken by... Meth) will involve withdrawal, so I desperately look forward to that. Perhaps this time I'll get simultaneous-shitting and -puking down to an art, or at least a science.

So I drank the Robo (10 mg of DXM and 100 mg Guaifenesin per dose times I don't know), for the DXM, which binds to similar receptors in the brain as opioids and so, I thought, might boost the effects of my Oxy -- or some such thing. I was shocked and awed to find that my pain didn't demand, later last night, that I take the day's last 30 mg of Oxy. However, I did wake up at 7 this morning in pain that made my eyes water for the hour-and-a-half it takes for my 30 mg morning dose of Oxy to kick in.

...Obviously, I'm off to the store sometime this week to get another bottle of the 'Tussin. I'll let you know how further adventures in Roboland turn out, and if it makes a nice mixer for vodka.

Cheers!

Mixx it!

GET ME AWAY FROM HERE I'M DYING!

I believe I'm going to die, sincerely, for one minute, then am convinced I am fine as cherry wine the next. I cycle from total belief in the former to total belief in the latter, and have been doing so for perhaps an hour now.

I have been feeling like unholy hell for the past few days and have been taking dextromethorphan on top of my other drugs as a little experiment. What's DXM? Cough syrup, friends. Take a bottle of Delsym, drink it down, and see what happens (wait -- that was not an instruction). I recommend the orange flavor over the purple (it can't properly be called grape).

Wait, no -- I don't recommend anything. To the point:

Here I am, a 29-year-old, typing away at his father's computer, which is on the main floor above the basement I live in, tripping balls on cough syrup and SSRIs, and hurting like hell from the waist down (and there's no heaven above). My pelvic bone is on fire (of course, that is to be taken not at all sexually) and my legs are made of cement that hasn't dried just yet... but almost.

I want to be ages and hours and miles away from all of this... No such...

A word creates itself and reverberates inside what I feel is an empty skull, trying to find permanent lodging. ...I feel like I could go to sleep, vomit, or watch a few hours of Twin Peaks off the TiVO.

...Getting a cigarette out of the pack out of my pocket just now made me think my arms were going to snap off at the shoulders. The pain was sharp, like bear traps released on my joints, but now it seems far away.

And I suppose that is what the DXM is for... Depersonalization. Sure, itching your temple with your thumb just now was a new hell Dante missed out on, but don't take it personally! It's not you. It's the disorder. And it's sorry that things just don't seem to be working out.

I know I will regret writing this, but I had to make myself type at my worst... I must think of posterity... The exact definition of which I'm going to have to look up right now... OK, fuck posterity.

So why? Why am I writing this, now, though I writhe in my chair from pain?

...I think it's because the office with my dad's computer is on the way to the upstairs bathroom, which I went to use maybe an hour ago. It's as simple and stupid as that.

[Pain: 10/10

Anxiety: 7/10

Cough syrup: Too much of it was consumed. But when you're in the fire you'll consider yourself lucky if you can find your way onto the frying pan.

Chance I'll rue this post: 9.5/10.

Love and kittens]

Mixx it!